


Target Acquired

by asweetdeception



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, assassin!bellamy, heiress!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetdeception/pseuds/asweetdeception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is a formidable assassin known for his clean and distant hits. But when a certain blonde heiress unknowingly makes him humanize his target, Bellamy finds it difficult to compartmentalize. Should he honor his assassin's code and complete the hit or should he let his human side save a girl's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Acquired

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic months and months ago when I suddenly had a need for an Assassin AU for Bellarke but I wanted to write it as a one-off instead of multi-chaptered (because I suck at updates) so I kept delaying it and adding to it. I have finally gotten to the point where I just need to publish it or its never gonna see the light of day. I hope to write a sequel to this sometime in the future because I didn't quite hit all the points I was hoping to. But until then, here you go! :)

Bellamy bit his lip as he pretended to read the book held in his hands, while his mind focused on the small public park surrounding him. It was a nice spring day with a warm breeze— a quite normal time for a person to be sitting out in the open with a book. Bellamy Blake, however, was not seated at this particular bench on this particular day to enjoy the beautiful weather or to admire the literary wonder in his hands. His eyes quickly flicked to the door of the rather large building to his right as a blonde woman stepped out with a trail of bodyguards and assistants following her.

 _Right on schedule_ , Bellamy thought as he discreetly observed the woman step into the limousine that had been awaiting her arrival. As the limo sped away onto the busy streets of New York, Bellamy closed his book and stood up to make his way towards his cherished bike, mentally reviewing the detailed schedule he had previously studied carefully. The next stop would be a meeting at the Wells Financial Headquarters followed by lunch at The Chateau with some business associates followed by another meeting.

It wasn’t that Bellamy didn’t trust his client’s provided intel— no, his client was rarely ever even slightly misinformed— Bellamy just preferred to run down and confirm any provided intel on his own before taking any action based on it, because in this business, you never knew who to trust. The only person you could undoubtedly trust was yourself. And in this business, just one small mistake could cost you more than your life. 

Bellamy gave a quick glance to his surroundings as he sped off towards his next destination, or more appropriately, his target’s next destination.

* * *

As his watched clicked to 9:00 a.m., Bellamy grabbed his gear-pack and headed out of his room. According to his intel, his target tended to spend her weekends in the family’s mansion in Greenwich. Incidentally, it was the only time her string of bodyguards and assistants was not constantly following her— a colossal fail at the hands of the security, Bellamy thought. They probably thought that the heiress was safe inside the boundaries of her own mansion; especially considering the heavy security it was fortified with. But Bellamy Blake wasn’t notorious for picking easy targets: mansions saturated with security were very much his specialty.

Bellamy stalked the parameter of the palace-like house as he made his way towards the dense woods behind the structure, where his very high-priced target was scheduled to take her morning run. As he trailed through the trees on the higher ground, his eyes found a jogging figure with a blonde ponytail on the heavily shadowed trail below.

There she was, his target: Clarke Griffin, heiress of the Griffin & Co. Investment Bank who had recently returned from her stay in Europe following her father’s tragic demise. The Griffin Princess, as many liked to call her, was not a figure many had expected to see in the chair of the CEO. Rumors had been flying that the ill-timed demise of Jake Griffin had left the company weak and vulnerable to a hostile take-over. Many had suspected foul play in the demise of the king himself but no hard evidence had come to light. Just like no hard evidence would come to light as the body of the princess would be found right behind the esteemed Griffin family mansion with the cause of death mirroring a heart attack. The Griffin family had quite a few business rivals that had been angling for a chance at the valued company. Suffice to say, the princess’s sudden arrival and takeover of the family business was not welcomed by many.

Bellamy positioned himself on the hill as he adjusted the scope on his dart gun to center on her neck. Just as he was getting ready to pull the trigger, he heard an adjusting click from the other side of the trail. He glanced up to see slight movement by the trees up ahead. His eyes flickered back to the target, who seemed to not have noticed anything, possibly because of the headphones plugged into her ears.

A red dot found its way to the back of the princess’s head, and in a split second decision, Bellamy picked up a rock and chucked it in her direction. The rock surprised the otherwise oblivious heiress just in time for her to step out of the laser point as a silent gunshot made its way in her direction. She yelped and ducked out of the way into the cover of the trees as Bellamy focused his scope towards the origin of the bullet. _Damn it,_ Bellamy cursed. There were other players in town.

Bellamy rustled his way through the tree covers towards Clarke Griffin’s hiding spot as a few more gunshots were fired. _Amateur_ , Bellamy thought. He could hear her muffled cries as she tried to find somewhere to run. Bellamy rushed toward her and covered her mouth with his hand as he pulled her backwards into the bushes. She struggled violently against his grip and tried to kick him in the shin as more muffled screams escaped her mouth. The girl was a survivalist, Bellamy would give her that.

“Shhh! I’m trying to save you,” he whispered from behind her as more gunshots were fired in their direction; never mind that he had been trying to accomplish exactly what the shooter was attempting not less than two minutes ago. Bellamy spun her around to face him. “Stop screaming!”

Clarke Griffin stared at him with an expression that was half-anger and half-fear. She continued to struggle against his grip but her screams had now died down. 

“I’m going to stop covering your mouth, okay? Just don’t start screaming again,” Bellamy whispered as he slowly moved his hand away from her face.

“Let go of me!” Clarke hissed as she freed her face from his grip. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is a person out there trying to shoot you. I’m trying to save your life,” Bellamy snapped.

Clarke glared at him for a moment before seemingly deciding to save any further anger and inquisitions until after they were out of the woods— literally and figuratively. 

Bellamy grabbed her arm and headed into denser trees, trying to stay clear of any looming gunshots. He slowed down as they reached a small hill and crouched down behind it. Clarke kneeled down next to him. Bellamy studied her face for a moment as she looked around trying to pinpoint the location of their shooter. She wasn’t what he had expected. Granted he knew next to nothing about this woman save her schedule and other generic information that was easily Wikipedia-ed, but he had pictured her much differently. A sole heiress to a multi-billion dollar corporation. A status like that is easily stereotyped: spoiled, bratty, clueless and entitled damsel-in-distress. Yet the woman crouched down next to him fit none of those words. Maybe he had been too quick to judge and too hasty to generalize. Maybe not all heiresses were what they were made out to look like.

“Aren’t there supposed be bodyguards protecting you, Princess?” Bellamy jibed at her now that they were relatively safe and fairly hidden.

“My name is Clarke,” she spat back as she shot him a dangerous look.

“Well, _Clarke_ , looks like your security team is in need of some serious evaluation,” Bellamy mocked as he too looked around in efforts of locating the mysterious shooter.

Clarke seemingly ignored his comment. “Who are you?” She questioned as she turned to look at him.

“Does it matter?” Bellamy taunted. “I’m just another lowly nobody to your highness.”

Clarke threw him a look of disdain. “You might be a lowly nobody, but you’re a lowly nobody standing in MY backyard, on the grounds of MY home, very conveniently able swoop in at just the right time to save my life. So, yeah, it matters.”

Bellamy looked away for a moment, surprised at how calm and observant she was, given their current situation. “I was on a run too. Got lost on my trail and probably ended up in your neck of the woods.”

“Nice running clothes,” Clarke jibed, gesturing to his black khaki pants and leather jacket. “And you’re not from around here. I would know you if you were. So cut the crap and tell me what you’re really doing here.”

Bellamy exhaled loudly in annoyance and turned his head back towards her, gazing into her eyes. “You know, most people would just say ‘thank you’ to someone who saved their life.”

“I highly doubt most people would find themselves being shot at in their own backyard while being ‘saved’ by a mysterious person who also happens to be illegally hiding out in their backyard and is lying about his identity,” Clarke countered, staring right back into his eyes adamantly.

“I highly doubt most people have backyards large enough for people to get lost in,” Bellamy smirked.

Clarke rolled her eyes and turned her head back towards the mysterious shooter who seemed to have stopped firing. “Did they leave?”

“Probably not,” Bellamy responded, edging up on the cliff to get a better view of the forest. “He’s probably waiting on you to show yourself again.”

“How do you know it’s not a she?” Clarke retorted.

“He, she, whatever,” Bellamy rolled his eyes. “The important point is that they’re trying to kill you and your otherwise obsessive security team is nowhere in sight.”

“The more important question is _why_ they’re trying to kill me,” Clarke mused. 

“Do you really even have to ask? Half the people on Wall Street would pay millions to see you in a coffin, Princess,” he answered amused.

“And how would you know that? More importantly, how do you know about my obsessive security team?” Clarke probed, now turning her full attention to her mysterious savior.

“I’m pretty sure the entire city of New York knows about your obsessive security team that follows you around like a pack of guard dogs,” Bellamy refuted. “As for Wall Street, I’m surprised this comes to you as news. Do you really think that your sudden return to New York and control of the company wasn’t met by severe discontent by all the other contenders for the company? There were hundreds of people aiming for a takeover of your company after the sudden death of your father, especially since no one had heard from you for years. Are you really that surprised that people want you dead?” 

Clarke gazed at him pensively. “And how would a ‘lowly nobody’ like you know so much about Wall Street?” She quipped.

Bellamy chuckled at her use of his words. “I hear things.”

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all,” Clarke retorted.

Bellamy flashed her a playful smile. “So, what made you come back?”

Clarke gave him a puzzled look.

“To New York,” Bellamy furthered. “You have never been a publicly noticed key player in your father’s company. Hell, you’ve hardly ever even been seen in New York before now. So, what changed?”

Clarke studied his face carefully, wondering why this stranger cared to hear about her life decisions. This stranger, she hadn’t even asked his name. “And why should I be sharing my life story with a very strange person hiding creepily in my backyard whose name I don’t even know?” 

“Oh, what good is knowing my name gonna do to you?” Bellamy teased playfully. 

“Well I should know what name to put on the thank you card. You did save my life after all,” Clarke mocked.

“Bellamy,” he chuckled.

“Just Bellamy?” Clarke inquired. 

“Just Bellamy.”

“Well, _just Bellamy_ , my company needed me so I came back,” Clarke answered, looking off into the distance. “I couldn’t let my father’s hard work go to waste now, could I?”

“So why did you leave before?” Bellamy probed. He didn’t really know why he cared to find out, he was just curious. Curious about this girl who didn’t fit the stereotypical image he had made up in his mind.

“Because New York might seem like a big city to a lot of people, but it’s like a small town to me; a small town where I grew up and where everyone knew everyone. When I was ten years old, I was in a ballet class with the daughter of the CEO of Sydney Consolidated. Our class was putting up a finale performance of Nutcracker for the term end and we both auditioned for the lead. She got the part because she was a wonderful dancer and I wasn’t all that good at ballet anyway. The story made the news,” Clarke turned to look at him. “’Griffin Princess gets sidelined by Amelia Sydney’, it was all over the papers. I was _ten_ years old.” 

Bellamy stared at her, unsure of how to respond.

“I know everyone thinks that we had the most perfect childhood anyone could ask for, and maybe we did and I’m just being ungrateful, but you’re lucky you don’t know what it’s like to grow up in the limelight. To have every small step you take as a child be watched like a hawk and criticized and torn apart by everyone. To be constantly pitted against other heiresses in a competition that none of us asked for. To have everyone watching your every move waiting for you to make the smallest mistake that could be blown up into a big scandal and a fruitful news story. It’s exhausting, and quite frankly, very lonely,” Clarke shared. “So, when I turned 16, my dad sent me to boarding school in the UK and I felt like I could finally breath. So, I stayed in Europe for college and even after I finished studying. No one knew me there, I blended in and it was wonderful.”

“And now you’re back,” Bellamy affirmed.   

“And now I’m back,” Clarke sighed. “All fairytales have to end somehow, I guess.”

In this moment, Bellamy pondered. He had the perfect opportunity. He still had one dart secured in his jacket pocket. He could easily take it out and stick it in her neck before she could even muster a reaction; heavens knew he was close enough to her. But somehow he couldn’t muster up the courage; he had lost his conviction.

He had saved her from the bullet earlier to make sure no foul play would be detected in the autopsy. After all, he was getting paid to make this a clean and undetected hit, and having fatal bullet holes in the body of his target would make such a feat quite difficult. He had had the perfect opportunity before, scope skillfully aimed at her neck for a quick and easy delivery of the poison dart that would cause an onset of a cardiac arrest. Plain and easy.

But some amateur moron had to come along and ruin his perfect shot. And now he had made contact with his target, even held a conversation with her. He had humanized the person he was sent to execute, a mistake he had promised himself he would never make. And now here she was, sitting next to him with her striking golden waves and her piercing blue eyes, looking at him with an expression of fading suspicion and peeking curiosity. She was not just the shadowy figure at the end of his dart gun scope anymore. She was a person. 

“You never answered my question,” she prodded, snapping him out of his muddled train of thought. “What are you doing here?”

As Bellamy opened his mouth to retort with what was surely yet another elusive answer, he was interrupted with a crashing sound. A person came rolling down the hill behind them, crashing through the bushes and heading straight for them. Clarke and Bellamy leapt out of his way, tripping on a broken tree branch and toppling over into a tree themselves as Bellamy hit his head on the bark.

“Are you okay?” Clarke shrieked as she regained control of herself and reached over to take a look at his forehead. There was a small cut just above his right brow that had begun bleeding.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy responded as he attempted to get up, failing.

“Don’t move, Blake,” the falling body had regained balance and was now standing tall with a gun in his hand. 

Clarke looked at the shooter in alarm and then turned to look at Bellamy, her head whirling in confusion.

“Murphy,” Bellamy cursed. “This is insane, put the gun down.”

“And why would I do that?” Murphy jeered.

“Because there is a security team sworn to protect the princess not even a mile from here and I’m sure they are on their way.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Murphy refuted with a taunting smile. “See, because I think the security team thinks one of their own is watching the princess as she runs, and because that certain someone is lying behind a bush with a bullet in his brain.”

“You bastard!” Clarke yelled.

“Really, Murphy? You didn’t think they would find it suspicious that their guy isn’t responding to their check-ins?” Bellamy snarled.

“Oh, of course, I have been repeatedly checking in with them,” Murphy clarified pointing to his right ear.

“You need a new security team,” Bellamy told Clarke, and then turned back to Murphy. “Come on, Murphy. This is absurd. We can talk about this.”

“Oh, so you can do her in yourself and claim all the glory?” Murphy scoffed.

Bellamy cursed under his breath.

Clarke whipped her head around to look at him with confusion and disbelief. “What?!”

“Aw, you didn’t tell her?” Murphy taunted. “Of course, it would have made it harder to get the hit in if she was running away from you. Clever plan, Bellamy.”

Clarke backed away from Bellamy slightly as she stared at him with anger and hurt.

“There’s a bounty out on you, Clarke. And Bellamy here is a hit man.  I’m sure you can put the two and two together,” Murphy provided helpfully.

Bellamy stared at the ground, not having the courage to look into the eyes of the girl who had just moments before trusted him enough to share her life story with him. “Clarke, I—“ 

“Shut up,” Clarke thundered. 

“Honestly, did you really think there was a random dude just creeping around in your bushes to what, steal the apples?” Murphy mused out loud.

Clarke shot him a repulsed look and then turned her head to look at the ground in anger. He was right, of course. It was stupid of her to have let her guard down like that. She should have known better. Honestly, what did she think Bellamy was there to do?

“Well, that’s upsetting and all but excuse me, I have a hit to complete,” Murphy announced brazenly as he pointed his gun at Clarke.

“Alright, Murphy, stop!” Bellamy jumped in. “You’re being reckless. Do you really think if the princess’s dead body turns up with a bullet hole months after her father died, it’s not gonna look suspicious?” 

“What do I care? I just have to get the hit in and collect,” Murphy smiled.

“Your client’s gonna care,” Bellamy countered. “Her murder is gonna bring a whole lot of uninvited spotlight to people who would much rather stay detached from the whole thing, and your client’s gonna be one of them. If push comes to shove, they’ll through you under the bus, pinning the whole thing on you. Then you get nothing.”

Murphy studied him with a calculating look. “Let’s say I believe you for a second, where do you come in here? Weren’t you here to can her yourself?”

Bellamy did a quick glance at Clarke in his peripheral before exhaling heavily and turning his eyes back to Murphy. “I wasn’t gonna just shoot her in the head.” Bellamy could feel the scorn in Clarke’s eyes as she turned her to look at him again. 

“I don’t have time for your riddles, Blake. Get to the point,” Murphy demanded impatiently.

Bellamy pursed his lip for a moment before finally speaking. “Poison dart.” He heard Clarke let out a scoff in disbelief as she turned her head away from him.

“And that wouldn’t cause an investigation?” Murphy sneered.

“It’s not just your run-of-the-mill drugstore poison. It’s an especially developed poison with an undetected penetration that induces a natural cardiac arrest. Virtually impossible to detect in the autopsy,” Bellamy further explained, not particularly enjoying detailing his plans of assassinating a person who was sitting right next to him.

Murphy looked at him astonished. “That stuff is almost like an urban legend. _Where_ did you get your hands on it?”

“I have my connections, Murphy,” Bellamy delivered plainly. “The point is: it’s undetectable. A clean hit.”

“Alright, so where is your especially developed poison?” Murphy inquired mockingly.

“I left it a little way over there,” Bellamy responded, pointing behind Murphy. “I had to leave it behind when I ran down hill to stop you from recklessly showering bullets into the princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Clarke, who had been sitting quietly a few feet away from Bellamy this entire time.

“Road trip, everyone!” Murphy exclaimed sardonically as he motioned them to get up and start walking with his gun.

Clarke threw him an icy glare that could drill holes into his head as she stood up and started to walk into the clearing. Bellamy grudgingly followed suit as Murphy trailed behind them, his gun pointed sharply at their backs.

Suddenly, Clarke stumbled on a fallen tree branch and collapsed, causing Bellamy to crash straight into her and lose his balance. As he was falling, he realized that Clarke hadn’t tripped: she had feigned her stumble to gain control of the situation, and she had succeeded. She grabbed the fallen tree branch and chucked it hard at Murphy, causing him to stagger back, while putting Bellamy in a chokehold to use him as a shield in case Murphy fired any instinctive shots. As Murphy tried to recover from the hit, Clarke threw all her weight towards shoving Bellamy into Murphy and ran straight for the dense forest to the side. 

She ran with all her might as if her life depended on it, which it did. She made sure to not run in a straight line, and dodged several giant trees in her sprint, her heart pounding violently against her chest. She blocked out all her senses, focusing only on the objective ahead: get out of the woods.

* * *

As Bellamy went crashing into Murphy, he aimed a punch right into Murphy’s gut with his right hand as he reached for Murphy’s gun with his left. Murphy, however, was not one to go down so easily. He clocked Bellamy in the head with the gun they were both so aggressively wrestling for and threw him off to his side.

As the struggle persisted, one of their fingers hit the trigger and the gun fired. Bellamy jerked back in surprise as Murphy inhaled loudly. Shock formed in their eyes as blood began pooling onto the grass beneath them.

* * *

Clarke flinched as she heard the loud gunshot sound out from the dense woods behind her. Her heart, which was already pounding violently, felt like it was about to hammer a hole out of her chest. She found herself momentarily slowing down as she turned around to look behind her. Who had pulled the trigger? Who had braved the shot? Did she even care? To her, they were both terrifying strangers hell-bent on killing her just so they could claim the reward that came with her head.

Or were they? One of them had also saved her life.

_Only so he could claim the kill himself._

Clarke sighed. She wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t been under the impression that the mysterious stranger she was spilling her guts to was some friendly neighbor who had lost his way in her backyard. She was perfectly aware that his presence in the Griffin family grounds was unusual and hostile. But somehow, in the few minutes she had spent sitting next to him, she had developed a sense of familiarity. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were both working to hide and protect themselves from the unknown danger that was chasing her. A common enemy does make people grow closer. But that did not change the fact that he had been there to kill her. Clarke shook her and picked up her pace.

* * *

Bellamy jerked away from the wounded rival, whose face was quickly draining of color. He contemplated for a minute whether to dispose of the body or to leave lying bare on the ground. On one hand, Clarke Griffin was surely on her way to safety by now, which meant that security teams were about to descend onto the forest in full force. Sure, Bellamy was good, but he was not invincible. No one in this business is invincible and the ones that cocky are the ones that get dead. But on the other hand, if Bellamy left the body lying there, it would surely bring the attention to him and start a vicious manhunt. The princess had gotten a look good enough to help a sketch artist, and before long there would be pictures of him plastered everywhere.

Bellamy couldn’t take that risk. Infamy meant failure in his career of choice.

After a few short minutes of contemplation, Bellamy decided being a fugitive was better than being a prisoner, and took off from the scene of crime after thoroughly cleaning any possible evidence of him left lying around from the earlier struggle. Maybe he would just leave the country for a few years. Bide his time until the next big story had taken a hold of New York’s elite.

* * *

Helicopters and armed men were swarming her home as Clarke sat on the living room sofa with a cup of hot tea in her hands and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“I assure you, Ms. Griffin, the grounds are being thoroughly searched. The intruder _will_ be found,” the man standing in front of her assured. 

“Thank you, Detective,” Clarke replied with a tired smile. “I think I am going to head up to my room now. I would really like to take a shower and relax.” 

“Of course.”

Clarke put the cup of tea down and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She had had quite the morning and, honestly, after all that had transpired in the last few hours, Clarke just wanted to jump in a hot shower and forget she had ever thought to go on a run this morning. She walked into her room, looking forward to letting the blistering hot water to wash away all the traces of her earlier adventures in the woods. As she put down her blanket on her bed, something caught Clarke’s attention from the corner of her eye.

Lying there, on one of her nightstands, was a piece of paper placed under a miniature fairy figurine. Clarke glanced around her room in alarm, feeling her body stiffen. She did not remember leaving any such paper on her nightstand this morning, so where had it come from? After carefully sweeping the room with her eyes, Clarke stepped over to the nightstand and picked up the paper. There was a handwritten note on it. 

_I’m sorry, Princess._

That’s it. Just three words scribbled in an unknown handwriting on this piece of paper, and yet she knew exactly who could have written them. Clarke did not know whether to feel relieved or afraid. On one hand, there was a finality to the note that made it sound like she would never she the strange intruder again. On the other hand, it made her nervous that he had somehow made it through the swarm of security professionals and into her room and somehow made it out without being apprehended. She let out a heavy breath, deciding to let relief wash over her after the outrageous day she had endured.

Clarke thought about throwing the note away, but then decided against it. After all, if she was right about the author of the note, she had a handwriting sample from her would-be assassin. Besides his appearance, that was the only identifying information she had on him, and it might come in handy to the police someday. 

**Author's Note:**

> Eeek. I hope this wasn't too disappointing. This is my first Bellarke fic so it was a little different to write. I know there wasn't much in the way of canonical Bellarke really but I felt like it would be unnatural for them to fall into each other's arms after he had just snuck into her house to kill her. So that is why I wanna write a sequel. But, we'll see. :)


End file.
